Chapter Text
"You're not serious." Arthur's laughter shouldn't make him pissed off as often as it does. Especially not in this situation- where his shirt is off, and their bodies are already warm, and breathing is already deep.
"What?" John asks, chin lifted high, golden eyes a squinting gleam.
"You- you think I've never done this before?" He asks, those fine eyebrows raised high, picture of English propriety in his crisp accent. Like he knows so fucking much. Like he's so much better. It's satisfying to strip Arthur down to a begging mess, to break his resolve and give him the relief and release he craves from his everyday troubles, to--
"Oh, John," Arthur sighs, placing a palm on the tile beside his head, leaning- looming over him- now with a pitying gaze. Something that burns and chews and presses on his insides, makes him shrink and at the same time, push upward on the boundaries of his ego, struggle not to be confined. "Just because I let you fuck me like this doesn't mean I can't do anything else."
John is abruptly aware of Arthur's graceful hand, cold because of the tile, cold because of the winter chill, cold because John's skin feels hotter when he glimpses the scar on Arthur's throat and the scar on his chest and the chip in his ear that tell the story of a man who calculates his sacrifice and takes it anyway- that cold hand is cupping his neck. A thumb stroking over....his pulse. Feeling for his heart, beating, pumping life-giving, miracle-working blood through John's impossible body...the thumb on a hand belonging to a man who has killed. And liked it.
Arthur leans down, closer and closer, and John's breathing picks up, then stops, because Arthur stops- an inch from his lips, noses brushing, air suddenly so still he thinks he can see himself in it like undisturbed water...
"But I don't think you can take it." He whispers, long lashes fluttering down as he lets John watch while he studies every feature of his handsome new face. "I don't want to overwhelm you. You've only had this body a little while. Your agency is important."
And then it's gone. It's gone, Arthur is sitting up straight and tall on his lap and everything rushes into clear focus so quickly it makes John's head spin. What's happening? Where is the fucking relief? He feels like he's just been edged, and Arthur has not even done anything. How dare he.
"I don't want to take it away from you now-"
"What the fuck was that." John snarls, but his breath is uneven, and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides not even - not even touching Arthur anymore! "What the fuck was that?!" He demands, because he can see Arthur's lips twitching, struggling not to laugh at him?
"What do you mean?" He asks, like a cat who didn't just get the cream but owned a farm where it was made. Or whatever that shit was.
"Are you going to- what do you-" He sputters like an idiot, and it makes his own face red, he can feel the heat coming off of his skin, he's embarrassed. How dare he...tease John like that. "Are you telling me you're holding back? Because you think I--"
"Can't take it." Arthur says confidently, with a lazy shrug, as if it's nothing new. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, you're still adjusting to life-"
John sits up so fast it makes his own head spin, and Arthur blinks rapidly, so he knows he got him off guard. His hands raise, strong and broad, but at the last second, he stops himself from gripping his partner aggressively to take what he wants. What his dick wants. What every fiber of his being wants, so badly. No. No, he can do this.
"Do it," he snarls. "Try it, try to fucking take me, Arthur."
Arthur waits for a moment, as if too stunned to speak, and then lets out a slow sigh, almost like relief.
"Going willingly?"
"Oh, fuck you, Arthur. Never."
"That's my John."
If John had given more than five, warm-and-fuzzy seconds to think about every time Arthur had said “my John” in the past six months since he’d gotten a physical form and they’d graduated their already deep intimacy to a new level, it would not have been a surprise when Arthur revealed he had been keeping a more aggressive side of himself from John this whole time.
How had he thought Arthur- indomitable spirit, bloody but unbowed, spit-in-the-face-of-gods, unbearably stubborn Arthur Lester- had only one desire in any area of his life? This multifaceted man was as capable of digging thumbs into the eyes of men as he was composing the most beautiful melodies eldritch beings had ever heard. Of course he would not be fucking content just lying down and letting himself rest all the time.
Of course Arthur could, despite his more fragile size, shape, and weight, pin John’s wrists by his head and kiss him with ferocity which would knock the wind out of him, and make him glad about it, just as much as it pisses him right off.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He demands, despite the fact that Arthur has given him an answer, twice now, and it’s made him clench his jaw both times.
“Tell you what? That I didn’t want to shatter your freshly-gained ego so shortly after you got it?” Arthur snorts, and the strength of his arms catches John’s eye despite himself, eyeing the flex of his biceps, the way the mounds of muscle show for a flash of a moment that although he had put on a healthy amount of weight again since their terrible adventures ended, the strength was still very present.
“That you wanted to - this.” John grunts, jerking at his wrists a little to see if he can break them free with half his effort. He’s not shocked to find he can’t…but he is definitely more turned on to know that Arthur truly isn’t holding out on him, now.
“I don’t need it,” Arthur says, pushing down hard on his wrists, hard enough that he swallows and his cock twitches under the curve of Arthur’s ass. “And if I did, I’d have told you, so it’s not like I was sacrificing anything, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”
“I’m not worried,” He sounds so fucking petulant even to his own ears, but that doesn’t stop him from saying what’s on his mind, and almost never has.
“No, right now you’re insulted,” Arthur smirks with such triumph it makes John see spots at the corner of his vision. Or maybe that’s the arousal, who knows? “And I’ll fix that, too.”
Arthur licks his lips and lets go of his wrists, and to his brief embarrassment, they do stay right where he put them, mostly because John gets the impression that physically fighting Arthur tooth and nail isn’t as fun and sexy as it first sounds. He has an imposing frame, and though he’s sure his lover would not like to hear it, John hates to imagine actually hurting Arthur beyond what was enjoyable for them during sex now that he can touch him at long last.
To his surprise, his next move is to get off of John’s body. His eyebrow quirks, but Arthur either does not notice or does not care, because his graceful fingers are slipping under the elastic of his boxing shorts, and before he knows what’s happening, he’s naked and exposed.
“Ah!” He hisses with surprise, bare ass touching the tile. “Fuck, that’s cold,” he protests instinctively. Surely that can’t be part of the plan. Arthur gets back on top of him and sits a little lower, this time with the tent in his trousers pressing visibly against John’s bare member.
Arthur’s hungry gaze eats him whole, swallows him without flinching, and makes John feel a particular sort of embarrassment he’s not used to; it feels kind of…good. He doesn’t know how to handle it, Arthur just looking at him like that, without doing or saying anything, and he has to break the (surprisingly short, now) silence.
“What?” He snaps, doesn’t recognize his own voice for some reason. “Are you just going to look at me?”
Arthur rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face is so fond, John actually wishes he had laughed again instead, because he feels patronized, but again, in that weird pleasant way he doesn’t recognize.
“Can’t just let me enjoy anything, you’re so impatient, John-” He mutters, and places both hands on his broad chest, spreading his fingers out to really grip all he can get of his pectoral muscles. Fingers brush against his (erect? When did that happen?) nipples, and he manages to suppress the shiver that comes with arousal to sensitive areas, but then Arthur presses his covered cock against John’s bare one, and the texture of the smooth cotton blend combined with the heat of his flesh hidden behind two layers of it makes John moan.
“Don’t you want to feel good?” Arthur asks.
“What kind of- what kind of question is that?” John balks in response.
“You’re not acting like it.” He rolls his hips down in a sinful motion that he should not know, smooth waves of strong muscle pushing and pressing and rubbing against him and making his hardened erection only ache for less in the way of bare skin.
“Stop speaking in fucking riddles.” John decides not to play the game, but he does push his hips up to try and knock Arthur off his rhythm. It does not appear to work.
“If you want to feel good, you have to listen to me--”
“I am listening to you,” John blurts out, frustration mounting. “You’re not making any fucking sen--” He stops short as Arthur grips his chin firmly.
“John,” Arthur says in a warning tone John has only heard in their arguments. He’s taken completely by surprise how that tone goes straight to his cock, makes it ache even harder. “You need to learn a little patience, not just expecting instant gratification. So you’re going to listen to me and I’m going to take my time. For once.” His smile, always so beautiful to John in all its many forms, belies a wickedness he’s scarcely ever seen before.
When he doesn’t come up with some witty retort, John finds that speeds things along a little bit. Arthur’s hand moves from his chin and slides down his chest, fingers dipping into the tracks and lines his muscles make outlined against his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His own eyes follow that motion, watch closely for any signs of what he’s going to do next.
It’s true that John has little patience, and he knows this about himself; even in his dominant role with Arthur in the bedroom, patience is not the virtue he employs to get cooperation out of him. It’s often more like the brute force of strength combined with shocking punches of pleasure, knock the proverbial wind out of Arthur until he’s singing his little heart out. In this moment, John realizes that impatience is going to be weaponized against him, which only activates his salivary glands against his will.
Arthur’s fingers finally get where they’re meant to be, and he wraps the long, slender digits one by one around his cock at the base, a cascade of gentle torment that produces a grunt of desire in return. His body shifts on the unforgiving tile and Arthur looks down at him from on high, the glow of the kitchen lights like a warped, buzzing halo around his head.
“Mmm…” Arthur drags his palm and all five fingers up the length of him, applying a firm pressure that glides all the way to the head. It brings a roiling heat to his gut the closer that touch gets to the sensitive tip, and just when he thinks he’ll get that touch- it doesn’t come. John knows that’s the point. He tries very hard not to let Arthur see the mild irritation, but it manifests in his tight-knit brows anyway as he stares defiantly upward, and Arthur’s thumb hovers tantalizingly just centimeters above.
He waits and it feels like an eternity, but eventually, Arthur does press down against the tip of his cock, and a relieved moan falls out of him before he can stop himself. Then Arthur has to go and laugh again, which makes him bite the inside of his cheek, trying to clip back his attitude just enough that Arthur will give him what he wants. He knows Arthur wants him as much as he wants Arthur; this can’t last, right?
“This is far more adorable than I expected it to be,” He comments, throwing the world into a dizzying inferno as his face heats with his temper.
“Easy for you to say when you’re not being fucking teased,” He snarls. “All you have to do is sit there and watch. Not exactly tough.” He’d argue that point to death if put in another context- the one which had him trapped as a passenger behind Arthur’s eyes for months- but all of that is intentionally dropped at the door right now.
“Oh, very selfless of you,” That sure is not a good tone of voice. And it’s probably also a bad sign that Arthur is removing his hand from John’s erection. Damnit. “Thinking of me when you’re that hard. You really have come a long way, John.”
He slips the button on his trousers open and free, then takes his sweet ass time pulling down the delicate zipper high on his waist, reaching in and revealing the result of the last several minutes it had taken to get down on the floor like this in the first place. John has always thought Arthur’s cock was a specimen of obscene beauty- not as large as John’s, a perfect size, just thick enough, just long enough, the exact distinct little curve in its natural form to find that wonderful place in his body practically on the first try. Seeing it fresh each time they were intimate always made John feel little, proud flutters in his stomach, overjoyed his lover was well-endowed just for him; no matter what would ever be presented to him in reality or hypotheticals, John maintained that Arthur’s body was uniquely and perfectly suited to his pleasure, and nothing anyone had to offer could enhance it further. And it was all for him- somehow, Arthur Lester wanted him to have the privilege of this act.
“...even listening to me right now, are you?”
Shit.
“I - yeah, I was.” His eyes dart quickly back up to meet Arthur’s gaze, which has now become a mixture of smug superiority, knowing, and pleasure.
“You were staring at my cock, John.” He points out, as he settles his weight backward a bit and moves to straddle only one of John’s thighs. Instinctively, his hands move from above his head- why had he just left them there, he could’ve moved at any time- and place themselves on Arthur’s thighs, high, close to his hips but not touching.
“I can’t stare at your cock and listen to you at the same time?” John scoffs, but instantly regrets it, because no, he cannot, and he knows that.
“I very much doubt it, but we can work on that.” Arthur sounds amused, which can only mean something is coming, because that’s how John acts when he is amused by Arthur’s whimpering in bed.
Whatever that comment means, he supposes he’s going to have to find out later, because what Arthur does next has nothing to do with eye-contact at all: he slots that perfectly designed piece right against the crease of his thigh and hip. (When John had gone so far as to look up human anatomy at the library, and called this the inguinal crease, Arthur said it was a ‘complete mood killer’ to say it that clinically in bed, which John did not fully understand, but had to agree with, since ‘penis’ had been a similarly medical and ineffective term to use in the bedroom after trial and error of a disastrous but ultimately funny degree.)
He would like to say that his thoughts do not meander when he is in bed with Arthur, but he does think about the inguinal crease, as it is used right now, where Arthur rests his cock and slides it forward with the aid of a little saliva and momentum, practically mimicking sex right there on his body. It’s a lot to take in, so maybe his brain is trying to cut the excitement in half by being distracted with human anatomical terms lest he make a total, weak-willed fool out of himself.
“Ohh,” Arthur groans, rolling his head down, bowing it to watch himself move on John’s body, and then any distraction at all is clipped at the root and John’s cock twitches visibly against his pelvis because how can a man think of anything else when Arthur makes those sounds? “That’s it…your skin is- so soft, John…” He sighs, placing one hand on his stomach, the other palm-flat on the floor to get as much leverage as he can to send his cock gliding along that oft-ignored area of his body.
Back and forth, hypnotic, gorgeous, sumptuous- impossible to think that he should be made to lie there and take that. Impossible for Arthur to demand he just do nothing like furniture while he rubs his cock against John’s body, use him like some plaything, existing alone for the sole purpose of helping him achieve orgasm after orgasm…called upon again and again just to have a mind devoid of trouble, to live only to serve Arthur’s glorious pleasure, the little notch in his brow when he cums…that would…be ridiculous to ask of him. Of course.
“Arthur…” He hears himself exhale, fight for control temporarily forgotten.
“Oh, you like that, do you?” Arthur purrs. “Is this what you want, then?” John’s eyes fixed down on the movements make it so close to what he actually wants- for Arthur to fuck him, of course. “No,” he answers, because he knows that’s right. And when he blinks again, he looks up at Arthur’s expression and remembers, “No, I want you to-”
“It’s not about what you want, John,” Arthur says, still speaking in fucking puzzles, which pushes John’s anger to the forefront again, snaps him awake from that weird moment of a daydream where he almost lost the plot of what they were doing, here. How Arthur had underestimated him, this whole time! That’s what should be in focus!
“I want you to--” John starts again, only to be infuriatingly cut off once more.
“What did I just say?”
John lets out a growl of frustration. “Give me your all!”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Arthur asks, and it’s his composure, his lofty little smile, that kills John. He’s used to heat and passion, desperately clawing hands and rushed kisses, the clash of two bodies that couldn’t get enough of each other and would practically tear in an attempt to try.
“Power comes in many forms, John…” Arthur is still rubbing his cock against that cleft of his body, the motion agonizingly close to what he wants, just a few inches off target. “I don’t need to be cruel to control you…” Arthur brings one hand over his own cock, pressing down to create more friction, a channel that he can really fuck. His head falls back with a low moan, his hips keeping at a steady pace.
John swallows down the whine that threatens to leave his throat. Cruel? This is cruel!
“But if you mean…you thought I’d be rougher with you…like you are with me…we’re very, very- nnhmm- different people, John.” Arthur explains like a patient if distracted mentor, as he fucks part of John’s body but not all of it, not where he should be, and his left leg starts to bend at the knee in his restless impatience and desire, planting his foot solid on the ground to vent some kind of energy he has no outlet for.
“Arthur,” His voice comes out a warning rumble, losing patience with this, with the teasing and the talking that doesn’t lead to anything at all.
“I think the problem is that you’re still thinking too hard about everything.” He points out ‘helpfully’, slowing to a gradual stop altogether, making John realize how much that movement meant to him, now that he has none of it anymore. He chokes back sound threatening to leave his throat, but by the look on Arthur’s slightly pink face, he knew it was there all along. “I can tell because you won’t stop talking.”
Arthur moves practically viperlike over his body, a sensual crawl that has him climbing up John’s torso to sit on his chest without hesitation.John’s hands follow, gliding up the backs of his thighs, over his flank, thumbs pressing into his hips once he settles his weight entirely, hard cock bobbing before John’s face. In truth, as much as he’s dying to give Arthur some retort about his chatter, he’s distracted by the promise of action. Fucking finally.
Arthur places his hand at the base and gives himself some languid strokes while meeting his gaze, as ever looking down at him. He looks surprisingly suited to such a position, held aloft, surveying his…kingdom, his…property. John swallows and looks back down at his waiting member, deciding not to waste any more time thinking about that and diving right in. He parts his lips and lifts his head slightly to catch the head--
“Ah, ah, ah.” Arthur holds his member away from John’s lips like withholding a treat from a fucking dog, and it burns so nicely in his chest, flush and rosy with arousal like his face, that his eyes widen in surprise for both his enjoyment of the scolding and his lover’s reluctance to…have his dick sucked? What? “I didn’t say you could do a damn thing, John.”
“Arthur,” He growls again, but this time, he knows it won’t work, and he does it anyway.
“Lay your head down.” He orders, and John, thoughtless, obeys- but he adds in a roll of his eyes for good measure. “And open your mouth.”
“That’s wh-”
“I said,” Arthur’s free hand whips out quicker than a flash and grips his jaw, digging his thumb and forefinger into the hollow of his cheeks near his lower set of teeth so hard it makes his mouth sting and tingle unpleasantly- which goes right to his cock, of course. “Open your mouth, not make sounds with your mouth.” His fingers give a tug, forcing his jaw open wider, and John hears himself moan without express permission from his mind, to his alarm.
“There, that’s what I wanted. Don’t move.” He mutters, concentrated now, as he takes his cock and pushes in the head with his hand, just the head, at such an angle that the tip rubs salty and soft against the slightly textured roof of his mouth. His gaze is fixed there, on John’s parted lips, on the bit of his cock he can see moving, as he rubs the sensitive head a scant inch back and forth over the warm surface of his mouth.
“Fuck…” He groans, clearly deriving pleasure from this small and simple contact which John had truthfully never realized he wanted before when giving him head. He was often too preoccupied practicing the suppression of his gag reflex, which was one of the more frustratingly limiting things about the human body he did not like. Arthur, however, is not plunging into his throat and taking his body like conquest or ravaging his tongue; he’s barely even making contact at all. It’s confusing, surprising, heavenly, he likes this, but it’s not enough…
And yet, Arthur’s fingers hold his jaw fast, keep his mouth open, refuse to let him wrap his lips around that delectable member and give him the indulgent pleasure they both know John can and will provide. John keeps looking up at his face, trying to anticipate when he’ll cave, when he’ll let himself have more, but it’s impossible. Arthur is not only clearly enjoying himself as he is right now, but so beautiful up there, it’s hard to think of very much at all beyond the intoxicating tease of a taste he has so far.
“Are you going to keep your mouth open for me now?”
“Aah,” is all he can really vocalize, but he slightly tries to nod his head to show agreement. He doesn’t think about how that’s adding up to more and more concessions, more submission, by the moment. He wants to see what Arthur wants next, he wants to…find the angle he’s playing.
“Good.”
Well that went right to his cock, too, damnit!
His jaw now released, Arthur tangles those fingers in John’s thick, dark hair, wrapping lovingly cared-for strands up in all his fingers and the spaces between them and finally starting to move beyond just the head of his cock in his mouth. He rocks his hips steadily in and out of his mouth, dragging his shaft over his tongue, just barely reaching the back of his throat, not even all of his member inside, but a damn good share more than they started with. The reliability of that motion becomes so intoxicating, so easy to anticipate, that John starts to zone out a little.
His hands reach up and he thinks- maybe- he can get away with a little extra. Take advantage of Arthur in the heat of building toward something explosive, with his louder breathing, and his darker gaze, fixated on fucking his mouth to the beat of music playing only in his mind. John’s hands slide up to his ass, squeeze, affectionate and strong at both cheeks, admiring the round and firm muscle there. He even tests spreading Arthur, remembering how good it feels to be inside his body, yearning for a moment to have him seated on his cock instead. Perhaps he can remind him of how good it is- how much he likes it- if he just…dips his finger in against his opening, softly brushing the tender circle of nerves around his--
“You just- cannot- listen,” Arthur suddenly pants, with a mean grin on his face, tightening his fingers in John’s hair so much it stings and burns and makes his own breathing come faster out of nowhere.
“For five,” Arthur’s cock pushes hard down against the back of his throat, to his total surprise, making him let go of his ass and readjust his grip to hold the tops of his thighs instead, like he’d been caught doing something he knew he wasn’t supposed to.
“Fucking,” Arthur’s cock is fully inside his mouth, down his throat, cutting off his airway with startling efficiency. It makes his head spin and his cock leak, and then it gets worse.
“Minutes.” The final, snarled word comes with a last snap of his hips so forceful he hears the lurid smack of Arthur’s balls hitting his chin as he bottoms out, a damn-near bestial growl coming from his body the likes of which John has only ever heard in violent circumstances. He chokes and gurgles happily on Arthur’s delicious arousal, tasting only him in his mouth, his nose, his lungs, filling him up in place of air because he didn’t need to breathe so long as Arthur was what flooded his senses.
He holds himself there, holds John down, holds his body still except for the gentle tremor in his powerful thighs. He watches unblinking and groaning with desire as John takes it and takes it and doesn’t tap out, feels dizzy, sees spots-
And then, after an eternity that goes by so fast it should be criminal, he wrenches his cock free and watches with a steady, burning gaze John would kill and die for. John gasps and swallows gulps of life-giving air that mean he can keep living to suck this man down his throat another day, so at least there’s that, but his own saliva connects his lips messy and glistening to Arthur’s shaft and head, and he instinctively wants to chase it, take it again. It must be clear in his heady gaze, because Arthur rumbles something like a moan or a laugh and brushes the side of his finger through those sloppy little tightropes of drool and cuts them short, smears it on John’s jaw and sighs.
“I think you’re getting it,” He says, but his voice is a little less controlled, less even. His cock is wet and gleaming and John struggles to even listen to him, but he tries. “But I’m surprised this is all it really takes. Are you that desperate? You can’t even wait until we’re in bed?”
John blinks up at him, confused, but when Arthur reaches back and wordlessly presses a single finger against the tip of his cock, he understands in a sharp moment of clarity what he means. A gasp leaves him, unbidden, and Arthur shows him that the finger he just used is as reflective as his chin must be right now. He’s dripping from sucking Arthur off like that, and it makes him feel a delicious kind of embarrassment.
“Come on. My knees are getting sore. Up.”
Arthur, somehow, stands like it’s no problem to do that at all, shucks his trousers and underwear, and even picks them up on his way to the bedroom, leaving John scrambling like a fool after him, naked and so hard even the gentle bob of his erection is almost painful.